


Civil Disobedience

by casey270



Category: Orange is the New Black, oitnb
Genre: F/M, Forced Prostitution, Prison, Prison Sex, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 20:11:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1954683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casey270/pseuds/casey270
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s never been the bad girl, and that’s the biggest problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Civil Disobedience

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Solicited Love Fest](http://solicited-love.livejournal.com/) on Live Journal. Check it out. Posting will be going on for about a month there, and many, many fandoms will be represented
> 
> A **BIG** Thank You to @Louise_mtn_bert for the beta.

She’s never been the bad girl, and that’s the biggest problem. She’s been a little wild, maybe a lot disobedient, but never really bad. She’s followed bad but never gone close enough to be swallowed in its darkness. Maybe if she had, this would be easier.

Even now, with her hands braced against the chipped tiles of the shower as Mendez grunts and pushes into her one more time, she doesn’t think she’s a bad girl. She’s just doing what she has to do to get by. One more day, one more fuck, is one day closer to release and one day further from the SHU.

She’s willing to do whatever she has to, to avoid going back to solitary, even letting the guards take turns with her. 

She hadn’t thought things through in the beginning; that’s the problem, right there. She’d played at activism all her life, taken up causes simply because they were causes, not because she held any strong beliefs in them, one way or another. It was a role she was familiar with, and she’d pulled the comfort of that familiarity close when she’d ended up here. It was her identity - one small part of herself that they couldn’t strip away or search, and she’d held it even more tightly because of that. 

She’d been caught up and tangled in what the others thought her values and convictions were, and before she knew it, she was a figurehead - a ghost of a leader with no real power, but there to take all the blame.

And when she’d sat right down in front of the showers, with nothing but a towel covering her, in what she announced was a protest of the filth and scum that could never quite be scrubbed away, some of the others had followed her lead. One by one they’d joined, until she’d had enough bodies sitting behind her to block anyone from getting into or out of the bathroom. 

The fact that they were behind her was key. She was in front of everyone. Not one of them had come to sit beside her, to share her burden. They’d backed her, all right, and they left her to take the blame for inciting disobedience. 

Turns out, that’s a serious infraction when you’re in prison. It’s worth a couple of weeks in the SHU, with nothing and no one to keep you focused. No distractions, no company, no conversations. Nothing to mark the time or the days except the trays of food that slid through the slot in the door. 

There wasn’t even anything to think about, except that she hadn’t really cared about the cleanliness of the showers to begin with. She just didn’t want anyone telling her she had to take one. Just a little, existential part of prison life that she hadn’t been able to accept yet.

But she’s much more accepting now. Even the slap on her ass as Mendez zips up and buckles his belt are easy to accept. She hardly even notices them now. Today it’s Mendez; tomorrow it’s Healy, she thinks. It really doesn’t matter. They work out the schedule between themselves. It’s just a simple exchange. They get to fuck her, and she gets to keep what little freedom she has.

She doesn’t even care anymore. When she hears _Soso to the showers_ over the speakers, she goes, no questions asked, no thoughts spared for what or who might be waiting for her there. 

She’s got eight and a half months left in here - just over thirty-six weeks, if her math is still good. She doesn’t count the days, though. She marks off what’s left of her sentence one fuck at a time.


End file.
